


Freeze Frame

by KryptoniteTie



Series: Welcome to My Nightmare (Tommy Series) [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: (it's not like graphic), Anxiety Attacks, Badass Wendy Corduroy, Corndog Interrogation, Dismemberment, Fluff and Angst, Ford is a Good Dad, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Canon, Soos is also there, Stan gives someone money? What., Tommy is a moron but he's trying, Worried Ford Pines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 08:46:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16036988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KryptoniteTie/pseuds/KryptoniteTie
Summary: The Pines take a road trip, and Ford leaves a list of chores for Tommy. Will he rise to the occasion, or freeze on the spot?Author's Note: No idea how to tag this. If you need something tagged, let me know, man.





	Freeze Frame

It’s midday around the Shack, and everyone is hard at both work, and play. Mabel’s knitting gosh-knows-what for the ever lovely and rotund Waddles, Dipper’s furiously scribbling down in a notepad every singly tiny observation of weirdness that occurs around the suspicious new guy, Soos’ giving tours as Wendy mans the gift shop register like always, Melody’s on ticket taking, and the two Grunkles are getting into an argument about something trivial yet again. Is it socks this time? Or is Stan finally confronting his brother on his reckless habits when it comes to syringes? They’re most certainly in a white-hot discussion about it, either way.  
  
Oh, and what of twenty-three year old Tommy Mason, you ask?  
  
Why, he’s digging through the lost and found, for any items he might want to steal from it and keep for himself. As one usually does when, through a compromise with a stingy old cheapskate, was only being paid twelve dollars a week for his assistant work. Ford fought tooth and nail for that, mind you. Stan didn’t want to pay him at all. An internship for college credit, he says. What a load of malarkey!  
  
Scrounging around near the bottom, an interesting thing catches Tommys eye. Now, he himself will admit he’s not the biggest tech guy around, as things of an electronic origin always seem to burst into flames around him, but by mercy, did he love classic retro stuff. Pastel pink rotary phones with long spindly cords, faded and beaten up arcade cabinets of Pac-Man knock-offs, brown and beige radios that buzz, crackle, and sputter out their achronial broadcasts, it all just enraptured him.  
  
So, when he found that old polaroid camera at the bottom of the plastic bin, you knew he’d be over the moon about it.  
  
Within the next hour, everyone must of had their picture taken twice with the old dusty thing. A camera flash startles Wendy enough to make her fall over from her reclining position, which Tommy gets the perfect picture of (to her chagrin). Soos and Melody pose for an adorable selfie together with Tommy, which Soos promptly puts on the fridge. Stan and Ford shriek out and attempt to cover their eyes in the blinding light, as the camera shutter sound disrupts their entire argument in the kitchen. It also almost earns Tommy another black eye. Mabel gets the upper hand on newfound shutterbug however, and snaps a picture of him trying to snap a picture of her, causing him to scurry off in bewilderment.  
  
Dipper is the only one left standing. He hides behind Abuelita’s recliner, then rushes to the skull. Over the smooth surface, he peers with the utmost caution. Nothing in the den makes a sound, save for the small noise of needles clicking together as a large, colorful yarn blanket is knit by hand.  
  
The area’s clear… _too clear._  
  
Much too clear for Dipper’s liking.  
  
The rustle of soft footsteps on carpet. and the clicking of a knob, register far too late on his radar. Somehow, the fiend had slipped _behind_ him as he’d been surveying the area. In what feels like slow motion, Dipper, the soon-to-be victim of a blinding camera flash, whips his head around in just enough time to see the bulb go off, making the thirteen-year-old stand up suddenly and fall over the dinosaur skull in the most dramatic fashion anyone could ever hope to fall over a giant skull in, as he tries in vain to cover his eyes and back away.  
  
He crashes to the ground with a small bounce, clutching his chest. His eyes shut loosely, declaring himself defeated and feigning death.  
  
“Nice pose there!”  
  
The photograph slides out of a slot in the front of the camera, depicting the cinematic fall. Although, to Dipper’s dismay, it looks far less graceful on film. Not that Tommy seems to mind. _In fact_ , Dipper thinks to himself, _it’s almost as if that’s what he wanted out of the photo_ ! The scandal of it all!  
  
Tommy dons a big grin as he slinks away, beaming and staring at his strange little collection, his new toy hanging around his neck. It’s really too bad for the person who lost this cool camera, but he can’t help himself from having so much fun! Ever since his last phone exploded back in California, he’d really missed taking photos of, well, things in general. It was one of his favorite hobbies when he was with his friends. Speaking of phones, he should really start saving up money for a new one. Yeah, this, weird pager thing Dr. Pines gave him is fine for out in the woods, but you can’t really look up funny iguana pictures or weird facts about small towns in Arkansas on a _pager_ , can you?  
  
And, yeah, rolling it around in his brain some more, it’s been a heck of a time, waking up at 4 am to place these little nodules on random trees in the woods, roaming around the thick of them, taking notes, and collecting samples of strange fungi plus other supernaturally inclined alchemy ingredients Dr. Pines is out of stock of. After a few hours of that, lunch happens. They proceed back to the Shack for food, and go over the shareable progress of the day. It’s all fine and dandy, yes, yes of course, when they sneak downstairs to check the sensors in private to try and track Bills movements in an attempt to predict his next move, but after a week, Tommy can’t help but grow restless.  
  
If the Doc let him do this whole demon extermination thing by himself, Tommy’s sure that jerk Bill would be long gone by now! Money probably wouldn’t be so tight either. Twelve bucks, plus his leftover five, is all Tommy currently has to his name. That’s not even enough to buy a full outfit from anywhere other than a rink-a-dink thrift store, much less live off of once he was free to go. Tommy doesn’t want to sound ungrateful, but, he’s getting a little tired of all the loose Hawaiian shirts, the constant fumbling with giant cargo pants he has to keep held up with an old belt, and slight heat stroke from all the oversized turtleneck sweaters and formal slacks Doc has him wearing. What exactly is wrong with his old clothes? Yeah, there’s a few holes, and everything’s faded beyond recognition, but, at least it all _fits!_  
  
A large explosion from the bathroom causes the young man to lose his entire train of thought.  
  
“THOMAS, HELP! _MY FACE IS ON FIRE_ !”  
  
His feet whirr as he heads towards the kitchen sink to grab the red can from underneath. A sudden memory rushes to his head, of a fridge and burning hair. No. Not this time. He’s not losing another house and friend to a freak fire.  
  
Before Ford can even register Tommy entering, a high-force push of cold dust hits his face like a sucker punch, knocking him off his balance. He tries to stop the icy blast with his hands, but trips over the shag rug, landing on the toilet with a thud. Tommy continues to spray, unknowingly.  
  
Ford at least had to give the boy some credit. In his thirty years of pulling that joke, not a single person ever thought to bring the extinguisher with them.  
  
“ _I’M ALRIGHT! I’M ALRIGHT! CEASE! STAND DOWN!”_ _  
_

With a raggedy breath, Tommy loosens his grip on the release, his heart still racing. A bit of the cloud settles, and Dr. Pines can be seen leaning back on his throne, grasping for dear life to the sinks edge. With slow, wide movements, he reaches for his glasses, and pulls them off his face. A thick layer of white covers both the spectacles, and a majority of his head. His hair got the worst of it, it seems, as the locks, usually neatly combed to the front and upwards, are now a powdery, windswept mess.  
  
Ford loosens his grip and sits upright, crossing a leg over his knee. He takes the bottom of his sweater, and rubs it against his lenses, a pensive, disapproving, yet wide-eyed look on his face. His stare flashes up at Tommy, who leaps up in recoil with a tiny yelp.  
  
“Thank you for that, my boy.”  
“So, you’re…?  
“Covered in, what is this?” He takes a moment to taste it. “Monoammonium phosphate? Yes.”  
  
A sweat breaks out across Tommy’s brow as he smiles sheepishly. Did he fumble this up again?  
  
“Is your, uh, face okay?”  
  
Ford bites his lip, but a laugh escapes anyways. “Oh, yes, I should think so.”  
  
He snatches the towel off the rack, drapes it over his head to wipe off the remaining residue, and makes tracks out of the room. The doctor begins explaining and handing a menagerie of things to the very shaken-up Tommy. A grocery list of alchemical ingredients (complete with pictures and descriptions), instructions on how to interpret and log psychic energy sensor data from the computer downstairs, the location of the backup instructions for in case he loses the first copy, and a full day-to-day schedule that even lists when to... dethaw the pre-planned meals in the freezer? What is all this for?  
  
“I’m going out of town with my family, and I need you to take care of things until I get back.”  
  
Oh. Alone? He, uh… Sure, he could handle that. No problem! Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.  
  
“Good! We’re leaving first-thing tomorrow, and... we’ll be gone most of the week!”  
  
Oh boy.  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
“Grunkle Stan, why are we taking the RV on a road trip _this_ early into the summer again?”  
     
Most of the baggage was already safely on board, but Dipper still needed to lug some heavy camping supplies into the cabin. Stan (initially seeing the boy struggle and deigning to not help at all) selects to have a sudden stroke of mercy and assist him. Especially after watching Dipper fall trying to haul everything by his lonesome, and almost scrape his knee on some exceptionally sharp gravel. Razor sharp! The boy would’ve been torn to bits if he hadn’t intervened, and then, what would he have told his parents? At least, that’s what Stan keeps telling himself.  
  
“Well, maybe I wanted to celebrate me and my brother’s birthday with, something a little special. It’s his first one back on Earth, after all.”  
  
Dipper huffs. He knows his Grunkle better than that, and isn’t convinced. “Isn’t your birthday in about, two weeks?”  
  
“I... also might want a headstart on sabotaging the competition. For Soos’s sake.”  
  
With a grunt, the heavy load gets put into place by Ford, and Dipper lets out a wheeze and a chuckle. Yep. He knew it.  
  
“Never change, Grunkle Stan.”  
  
The man in question lifts his red beanie and scratches his head, laughing alongside his nephew, with more of a guffaw than a light giggle.  
  
Deafening feedback cuts though the happy laughter.  
  
“I’m not paying you people to lollygag!” A garble of words exits a megaphone, the speaker with a pig at her side.  
  
“Mabel, you’re not paying us at all!”  
  
Ford sticks his head out of the RV, a slightly sour, but overall amused expression on his face. “Sweetheart, this isn’t what I meant when I said you were in charge of the list.”  
  
The megaphone crackles again. “Shut your yaps!”  
  
“Haha! I for one, couldn’t be prouder.” Stan jokes he as looks out at his niece, her flipping through a notepad with a sparkly, novelty pen as Waddles sits idly, staring up at Mabel with love.  
  
Ford shakes his head. “You would be.”  
  
Back inside, the Shack goes on like normal. In fact, a tour is being lead through the giftshop right now, and a small child tries to get something from the vending machine-  
  
It opens, with slight, dramatic smoke, to reveal Tommy in a tangle with a maroon turtleneck, the old Polaroid again around his neck. His too-large cargo shorts, socks/sandals combination, and mustard yellow fanny pack do not tie the outfit together at all. He looks a giant, uncoordinated mess.  
  
The child runs off screaming as Tommy’s head pops through the top hole in the massive, fluffy sweater. Wendy shakes her head as Soos, desperately tries to save face.  
  
“Uh, yeah! Behold, the Boy Displaced Out of Time! To him, the eighties _never ended~!_ ” His fingers wiggle to exaggerate the expression. “It’s why he dresses like that.”  
  
People nod, astounded, and take photos of the basement recluse. He desperately tries to block out the rapid flashes, much to Wendy’s delight.  
  
“Looks like the shutterbug’s become the shutterbug-ie, huh?”  
  
He groans, and takes the camera into his hands. “Don’t test me, I still got film in this thing!”  
  
Another bright flash almost blinds Tommy as Wendy looks up from her magazine, cocking an eyebrow. “How?”  
  
“I dunno.” Tommy shrugs, a inquisitive look on his face. “Seems, like it’s, always got film in it.”  
  
“So it’s enchanted or, whatever?” Wendy says.  
  
“Probably?”  
  
The gift shop clears out, Soos wishing everyone well as they leave, offering merchandise and asking them to spread the word. As they exit, Melody eventually comes in from the Employees Only door, holding two glasses of pink lemonade with fun, loopy, silly straws and a lemon wedge on brim of each glass.  
  
She’s beaming. “Soos, that was so good today!”  
  
“Aw, you were good too! Didja see how many tickets you sold, _while_ making eye contact?” Soos exclaims. “You were on fire! I’m so proud of you!”  
  
Melody blushes as bright as the lemonade she shoves into her boyfriend’s hands. “Just, drink up, we should be getting more people in a couple hours.”  
  
They laugh and hold hands as they walk further inside, laughing and complimenting each other on a good morning-crowd rush. Tommy peers out the window beside the counter, and locks eyes with Ford from across the yard. He stares the boy in the eye, and nods. Tommy does the same, knowing exactly what unspoken thing he’s thinking about. At least he’s, pretty sure? Fairly sure. 60% sure. Not the surest in the world but still really darn sure.  
  
A laugh. “He will not shut up about you, y’know.”  
  
Wendy’s sudden comment startles Tommy. He glances to his side, and there she is, with her arm around his shoulders.  
  
“Everyday this week, I keep hearing about how he thinks you’re some sort of, monster or, something. He even told me to ask you while he was gone.”  
  
Tommy looks away from Ford, and down towards the back of the RV, where two leering eyes in a brown ushanka stare at him in contempt.  
  
“I got five dollars riding on you being a Were-Cat, ‘cause you sound like you’re from a bayou or something.”  
  
“No.” Tommy says. “Well, yeah, from Louisiana, but not a Were-Cat.”  
  
“So, what are ya?”  
  
He takes her arm off of him, in a similar bemusement to Dipper’s current disposition. “An idiot.”  
  
Wendy breaks out into a hearty laugh, the snarky response catching her off guard.  
  
“Ok, so, guessing not a Boogeyman or a Changeling either, huh?”  
  
“Seriously?” Tommy rolls his eyes. “Any sort of Fae, in this part of Oregon? Yer more likely t’see a neon-pink peacock than a…”  
  
He trails off, realizing what he’s saying. A nervous emotion washes over him. Darn it. Somehow, she got him talking about his, weirdness knowledge. It wasn’t something he was exactly proud of, but, when you’ve lived your life surrounded by ghosts, ghouls, and sentient talking hermit crabs, you sort of learn the required lingo by default.  
  
An impressed look finds its way on her face, as she smiles. “Dude, you know all that? Now I’m starting to see why Dr. Silver Fox wants to keep you around.”    
  
“That’s, one way of lookin’ at it.” Tommy thinks to himself. He knew the real reason Doc wants him here. To, clean up this mess he’d made. That’s why he’s putting up those weird psychic energy sensors, so they can track down Bill- Wait. Right. He needs to go plant some more of those nodules! Ugh, and he got distracted by all this, useless smalltalk! Typical Tommy! Stupid, idiot, scatterbrained…  
  
Wendy clears her throat, noticing Tommy grumble to himself, but not quite understanding his words. “So, uh, hey, I’m about to ditch work… and uh, maybe you’d like to, ditch it too?”  
  
There’s a significant amount of silence as Tommy’s heart and mind race. He sweats a bit, words not fitting into his mouth right.  
  
“N-nah, I can’t, Doc’ll kill me if I don’t get this done.”  
  
“Well, offer’s open, still got a few minutes ‘till Thompson pulls in.”  
  
Tommy rushes past her and into the den, Abuelita’s chair surprisingly empty. He can’t _believe_ what he just heard! Or the fact that he almost said yes! Sure, yeah, when he was younger and still in high school, he’d jump at the chance to get out of work, but… this was, different. This wasn’t just a job, this was a responsibility. A responsibility to peace, a responsibility to good faith, and a responsibility to his admittedly, slightly intimidating boss that could turn him into a spineless pile of goo if he wanted. The fate of the world’s at stake here! Besides, he’s broke. Doing things usually involves cash, and he needs to save that up. No, no, it’s much better for everyone if he just takes his pack off the hanger, and heads out the doo-  
  
“Where d’ythink you’re going, kiddo?”  
  
Ah yes. Mr. Pines blocks his way yet again, this time fully dressed. Wasn’t he packing the RV?  
  
“Forgot some things inside, but I couldn’t help but overhear that little conversation.”  
  
Tommy rolls his eyes. Old fart’s probably going lecture on like his grandpa does on how he’s proud of him for making the right choice...  
  
“I think you should go with ‘er.”  
  
What?  
  
“Look, I don’t know what nerd crud Ford’s got you doing, but staying inside and dressing like _that_ is no way to make friends, kid. And hey, no offense, but you don’t really have too many, do you?”  
  
Greasy Grandpa’s got a point, but then the issue of money comes back into play. He’s not about to let a teenager being paid probably less than minimum wage pay for anything of his!  
  
As if reading his mind, Stan nods sagely, and ushers him into the den. He points to a compartment behind the recliner, and urges Tommy to open it.  
  
He does so, and sees a giant duffle bag, full to bursting with fifty and hundred dollar bills. Tommy’s eyes light up. This house is always surprising him with secrets, in one way or another. Are there any other caches like this? What else does this sneaky old man have hidden away?  
  
“Take what y’think ya need, and split.” Stan laughs, smiling warmly. “You ain’t getting any younger.”  
  
Doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes a handful of hundreds, as many as he can hold in one fist, and closes the lid, hurrying off to catch Wendy before she leaves.  
  
She’s about to head out when he catches her.  
  
“Change your mind?”  
  
He beams as he nods. “Yeah, screw this ‘goody-goody two-shoes’ act, Got all week to do what he needs me to do. Not like the woods are goin’ anywhere.”  
  
“Alright, but first stop is the thrift store or something. Yeesh, dude.”  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
Tommy’s face is currently a deep crimson, his hands shaking. He still can’t believe he ditched work for this. What even are the clothes he’s picked out? Who even wears sleeveless hoodies anymore, let alone in a color as dark as black? It’s the middle of the summer, you doofus. Ugh. no, he needs Wendy to take him back home. He can’t do this.  
  
He steps out of the changing room, and gets everything but the kitchen sink thrown at him.  
  
“Thompson! Jeez dude, he’s just a lil’ guy, don’t pile this crap all on him at once!”  
  
“B-but, you’re the one who told me t-oh, forget it.”  
  
Tommy, from under a pile of shirts, pants, and shoes, rises like a zombie leaving it’s grave. Seems Lee and Nate picked out even MORE things for him to try on, as Tambry sat in a chair, texting… someone, probably. She mentioned something about her boyfriend getting arrested for his ‘Muffin Graffiti’? Teenagers, rebellion just comes so natural to them. As a bit of a free-spirit himself, Tommy can’t help but relate, and feel a bit proud of this generation of teens. Stick it to societal norms and the old stuffy money! Dismantle the bigoted conventions that tie us down and oppress us! Anarchy!  
  
Wendy comes back, sipping a can of Pitt. “Oh hey, that looks pretty good on you. Nice shoulder freckles.”  
  
Out of embarrassment, Tommy covers his bare arms with his hands, shaking his head.  
  
“Hey! She’s right.” Nate blurts out, taking his attention off of jokingly grilling Thompson.  
  
Before Tommy could even retort, Wendy was already rolling her sleeve up to the top, flashing her own shoulder freckles at Tommy with a playful ‘wonk’ noise.  
  
“See, man, I know what I’m talking about.”  
  
_Guess, if she’s not embarrassed…_  
  
Tommy stands up from the pile of clothes, letting the group see what else he’s wearing. He’d picked out a pair of torn, faded, somewhat baggy blue jeans, which he’d cuffed up a little at the bottom, just so he wasn’t stepping on the back of them everywhere he walked, and a pair of dark grey sneakers.  
  
“That, looks sorta like something Robbie would wear.” Lee says, looking him over.  
  
Wendy slaps her head in response, almost disgusted. “Ugh! You’re right! Quick, find him something other than those jeans. They don’t even fit him anyways.”  
  
Nate and Lee grab a pair from the pile, and shove him through the door. Just like that, Tommy finds himself back in the dressing room, changing out of a pair of denim and into some khaki pants. These guys sure are, assertive, to say the least. Not that Tommy doesn’t appreciate that in people, of course. It just feels like they’re treating him like, he’s… not an adult? There’s a word for that, right? A peer? Is that the one? No, it’s, almost less than that. His brain’s still a little fuzzy from skipping breakfast this morning. Hopefully after this, they all go get something to eat.  
  
He walks out again, cargos hiding his kneecaps, the upper part loose, but tight around his shins. Unlike the ones gifted to him by Stan, these shorts are actually made for someone around his size and height, so he didn’t feel like he was walking around in a parachute.  
  
An audible sip of soda cuts the quiet. “Yeah, those are way better.”  
  
Tommy starts to laugh, until a camera flash goes off, with Nate holding his old Polaroid. He gives Tommy a thumbs up as the picture slides out and develops.  
  
“Thought I left that in the van?” Tommy ponders out loud.  
  
Nate shakes his head. “Nah, look, you can’t keep old stuff like this in a hot car, it’ll ruin all the electronics in it, crack the lense.”  
  
Tommy thinks back to when he dropped it down the long flight of stairs leading to the basement, and how it still worked like new. He’s, skeptical of Nate’s claim, to say the least, but still goes along with it. He does like taking pictures of nice moments, after all.  
  
“Y-yeah, plus, it’ll mess with the chemicals of the undeveloped film, making the color all blown out-”  
  
“Thompson, Nate, stop being nerds for ten minutes.” Lee says, pushing past the pair of them. “We have a bunch of clothes, a guy who needs to try them on, and now, a camera. This, is my turf.”  
  
Tambry scoffs. “Only because you watch too much Project Runway.”  
  
The lanky teen ignores this, and struts over to Tommy, eyeballing the length of his arms, legs, and even looking at the shape of his torso and face. Not knowing where else to avert his gaze, Tommy glances over at Wendy, who’s still sipping on that cold soda. He tries to shoot her a pleading stare, one of desperation and begging, but she shrugs and responds with a thumbs-up, almost not even realizing the slight pain in Tommy’s eyes.  
  
It’s right then, the thought dawns on Tommy, that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t exactly the random invitation to hang out Wendy made it out to be back at the Shack. There’s a slight premeditated aura to the unfolding events, as if she knew her friends too well, and saw an opportunity for, something. Sinister or benign, Tommy’s not sure... Wow. He, really needs to work on that part of his deduction skills, doesn’t he?  
  
Lee ceases the examination, and starts digging through the clothes. Tommy scratches his side. Yeah, maybe letting Doc’s thirteen-year-old niece knit him a binder wasn’t such a good idea. He’d specifically asked for a plain, black one, but the kid embroidered the front of it with the hot pink text ‘Mr. Big Guy’. Tommy, wasn’t sure what that even supposed to _imply_ . Was it, meant as sarcasm? A jab about his height? His (lack of) weight? Was it, trying to be a positive affirmation? It itches like a mother, either way. What kind of material is this? Poison ivy? Ugh, at least it works…  
  
“With your body type… I’d try this on.”  
  
Right. Clothes. He sights, as the outfit is put in his hands. What is he even _doing_ here? These teenagers could all be out having fun, knocking over mailboxes or some other rebellious activity. They don’t need to help some, some dumb manchild pick out clothes in a thrift store.  
  
Tommy must have started crying in the midst of his internal rant, as when he looks back up, Wendy’s got both hands on his shoulders.  
  
“Hey, buddy. Chin up, okay? Look, we don’t have to keep doing this if you don’t want to.”  
  
His knuckles whiten, nose scrunching up. “I just, y’all kids should be out doing, actual fun stuff, instead of this…”  
  
As the word ‘kids’ left Tommy’s mouth, everyone looks directly at him. Even Tambry.  
  
“K-kids?”  
“Wendy, wh-what did he say?!”  
“I thought he was…”  
  
Wendy shakes her head in disbelief, but looks back at Tommy.  
  
“I think we, misheard you. How, uh, how old are you again?”  
  
He shrugs. “Twenny-three?”  
  
It’s silent for a moment, but then the group rages into an uproar of shock.  
  
“TWENTY THREE?! WENDY YOU SAID HE WAS, FOURTEEN OR SOMETHING!”  
“He’s as old as my cousin in college, how the…”  
“DUDE YOU ARE _NOT_ TWENTY THREE.”  
  
It even ushers in a solid ten second stare and a “Wow, wild.” from Tambry.  
  
Wendy, takes a deep breath, and shoves him into the dressing room, follows him in, and closes the door.  
  
He takes a seat on the small ledge, kicking his feet that hardly touch the ground, and she pulls up the chair, of course backwards.  
  
“You’re, twenty three?”  
  
Tommy pulls out his license, and shows her the proof.  
  
She looks it over, and whistles before handing it back.  
  
“I thought you were, like, fifteen.”  
  
Tommy smirks. “Jeez, I wish! Nah, I get that a lot.”  
  
It’s silent for a little while, save for the group outside still reeling from the revelation.  
  
Wendy takes off the baseball cap, and brushes a hand through her hair.  
  
“So, uh, I kinda put this all, together, because I thought you were, younger than us? And, needed some friends?”  
  
“I mean,” Tommy starts, rubbing his arm and expecting the inevitable, “I, guess I still kinda do need friends, but I’m sorry to disappoint.”  
  
“If, y’know, if yer not comfortable with me, we don’t…”  
  
She shakes her head. “No man, I was worried _you_ were uncomfortable! We were over here treating you like a kid, when you’re older than all of us!”  
  
“Again, it, happens a lot.”  
  
“Hey, that doesn’t make it _right_ .”  
  
She puts the cap back on, backwards, and lets out a grunt. “We’ll finish up here, alright? Get some clothes you like that aren’t weirdo grandpa wear, and then, I guess you owe us something, Mr. Adult, for lying about your age.”  
  
He laughs at her wink, playing along. Seems she’s been spending too much time around Stan. “Sure, my ID’s still valid. What’ll it be?”  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
This is, not what he expected.  
  
Apparently, in this town, you need adult permission to ride on the local go-kart track.  
  
Or play mini golf.  
  
To go bowling, to play at the arcade, and, for some reason, get frozen custard?  
  
This town is, really weird?

“Yeah, ever since Cutebiker became mayor, he’s been signing in all these dumb rules that make it impossible for anyone over thirteen and under forty to enjoy themselves.” Wendy rants as she eats a bite of custard, the group of them walking down the sidewalk. Lee and Nate jab Thompson in the ribs back and forth as he tries to eat his, while Tambry walks at the right side of Tommy, who’s leading the pack.  
  
“Sounds dumb.” Tommy admits. “Does eighteen not count anymore?”  
  
Wendy shakes her head. “Nah, twenty or above. It’s made Robbie go almost absolutely berserk.”  
  
Thompson almost falls over, causing Tommy to jerk ahead. The short guy steadies himself however, and manages to keep from falling over, camera bouncing off his body.  
  
Tommy almost drops the pile of pictures he’s taken, of both himself and group shots with the teens. Most of them were pics of him trying on clothes, but there’s still quite a few of him in the midst of the day’s activities, having a blast, a giant smile on his face. It, makes his heart flutter a bit. ‘Captain Awesome’ is what they keep calling him, the entire group chanting it as he beat the top high score on a few arcade cabinets, won Lee a stuffed toy at the bowling alley claw machine, and won a whole round of mini golf. He has to admit, today’s made him feel, on top of the world. It’s a refreshing change of pace from the norm.  
  
They’re all walking back to the van, when Lee pushes Thompson a little too hard, billarding him into an unprepared Tommy, causing the guy to go rocketing forward with hardly any control over his legs. He knocks into a tiny old lady waiting at the crosswalk, the both of them falling over on their butts.  
  
Tommy, with a miraculously tight grip on his photos, wobbles up, and tries to help the lady do the same.  
  
He then notices her sickly green-tinted skin, and her strange, hand-shaped feet…  
  
Soon, she’s staring him in the eye, a blank expression on her face. Her glossy stare, darts down, glancing at the camera-  
  
“THIEF!”

“What?”  
  
“LITTLE THIEF WHO STOLE MY CAMERA!”  
  
She yanks it off of him, the buckle in the back unhitching at her touch. She looks over the polaroid, inspecting it for any damage. She then, sniffs it, and smells something that makes her eyes narrow in rage.  
  
She grabs Tommy’s arm, the one with the photos, and sees that the first one is a selfie he took while clothes shopping.  
  
“YOU TOOK MY CAMERA FOR YOUR OWN VANITY!”  
  
Tommy, rolls his eyes, and tugs his arm away, indignant. He stole nothing, and this lady can go choke on a frog for all he cares.  
  
She mumbles something in Latin, or maybe backwards, as Tommy dismissively waves his hand at her, saying something in Latin back that if this author translated it, he would have to bump this entire fic up to an explicit rating.  
  
Tommy joins back up with the rest, a scowl on his face. That camera was so cool, screw her for taking it! So what if it was hers? He found it, fair and square! Not like she ever came back to the dumb Shack to claim it!  
  
Everyone else is quiet, as they hear him grumble under his breath. Thompson’s the first to speak out.  
  
“Hey uh, I think that lady, steals people’s hands. I knew a guy who had his stolen, and uh… yeah.”  
  
This time, instead of roughhousing or telling Thompson to shut up, everyone nods in agreement, the whole bunch anxious and awkward.  
  
Wendy plays with her half-frozen treat. “Yeah, that, sounded like a curse at least.”  
  
Tommy laughs. Steals hands, eh?  
  
“So, told you guys how I’m a travlin’ musician, right?”  
  
They nod, recounting how while in the arcade, Tommy almost broke the Rock Hero V machine from playing on the hardest difficulty and acing every song, all while recalling some road stories and complaining about the inaccuracies in the game’s charts.  
  
He holds up an arm, and puts a finger around the sweatband. They all crowd around, craning their necks down to see what he’s trying to show them. On the inside of it, is an inscription in some sort of, weird rune language, that glows a soft cosmic purple.  
  
“I always have folks tryin’ to steal these hands, and these lil’ beautes keep ‘em right where they need to be.” He says, still laughing a bit. “Won ‘em from some wizard in Chicago who said I couldn’t play all of Freebird right there in front of him.”  
  
The group, straddles behind as he strides forward, as confident and cocky as ever. The sunset dances off of all of their clothes as they keep onwards, staring at their new friend.    
  
“Is, he gonna be okay, Wendy?” Nate asks with concern.  
  
Lee follows up. “He, sounded like he knew what he was talking about, but…”  
  
She shakes her head as Tambry continues texting on her phone, updating her Twitter about her cool day, but also stirring in her brain, is how worried she is for the new guy.  
  
“I mean, she said he’s working for that, weird, scientist Dr. Pines guy, right?” She says, still texting. “He, should be fine… ?”  
  
Thompson sighs. “We won’t know until tomorrow, when he wakes up handless.”  
  
“He’s not gonna be handless, Thompson.” Wendy blurts out, still playing with the custard. “He, explained some magic things to me this morning, so he knows his way around this stuff. He’ll be fine.”  
  
She shoves the plastic spoon in her mouth, not really believing what she just said, either.  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
Tommy wipes the sleep from his eyes, picking out granules with his index finger. Yep, still has his hands, despite everyone’s bellyachin’. Curse smurse. He rubs his lucky wristbands. They never seem to fail him, do they?  
  
He bounds upstairs, the happy feeling from yesterday following him into today. He’s got on a new outfit, and he’s ready to greet the rest of the Shack. He instead greets an empty gift shop, and a quiet house. Curious, he, looks in all the rooms. No one upstairs, no one downstairs, no one outside… not even Abuelita or Gompers are anywhere near the old place. Actually, ever since Mabel took Waddles with her on the road trip, Tommy doesn’t think he’s seen that old billy-goat anywhere at all. The situation has him scratching his head, until he finds a note on his vending-machine door.  
  
  
  
        **_Hey Tommy,_** ** _  
_****_  
_****_Me and Melody are gonna be gone for the day for a monster movie marathon at the local theater, and I also gave Wendy the day off too. Home alone today! Like that one movie. Except it’s June, you’re an adult I think, and I’m pretty sure Joe Pesci isn't gonna pop up to steal stuff. If he does, you know what to do, dude. Unless, you haven’t seen the movie, in which case, paint cans on strings. Gotta have ‘em. PS. Saw you didn’t eat the scheduled premade meals Dr. Pines made you, so I went ahead and did it myself dude. Thank me later!_** ** _  
_****_  
_****_-Soos_** **  
**  
  
  
Huh. All alone today? That, should be fine. Hey, he’s gonna be, out and about too. Gotta, _scratch his hand_ , and put up the nodules, _and scratch his hand_ , log the sensor data, _and scratch his hand_ , collect some flora samples, and _scratch his hand, and scratch… his…_  
  
Wh-why is his hand so itchy?  
  
He looks at where he’s been grinding his nails, and sees, a grey splotch, rough and hard to the touch, on his left hand. He rubs his finger across it, fearing the texture. It’s grainy, and tough. He taps on it with his nail, and it makes a little, _click click_ sound, confirming his fears.  
  
That’s… that’s stone. Part of his hand, is stone.  
  
He watches it in terror, as a little bit of it spreads further. Not by much, but, still enough of an amount to make him squeal out. Wh-what’s causing this? A thought of guilt crosses his mind. Did, Doc curse him, to keep him from slacking off? Is he under the effects of a spell casted by an angry warlock, to punish him for his lackadaisical nature and irresponsibility? Was not catching Cipher, that grave of a misdeed committed against humanity? He glances at the stone statue of “Stan”, with a newfound horror. Oh Lordy, It’s happened before with another dumb kid, hasn’t it? No wonder all those teenagers were so afraid of his boss! This, this entire house was a terror trap! Sure, warm beds, kind people, and nice food _seem_ harmless, but that statue, upon closer inspection, looks like it’s been made from a “statue” of someone else entirely! There’s, even, an icy pleading in it’s eyes as it stares into his soul, the chill rippling down his back-  
  
A knock at the door snaps Tommy out of his minor bout of paranoia.     
  
He opens it, to tell the visitor the Shack is closed, but has to look down in order to find the guest. It’s the weird lady from yesterday. Ugh, what does she want?  
  
“So, uh, you noticed the stone thing, right? It uh, happened somewhere visible?”  
  
Oh.  
  
It was, it was her. That, curse thing she did. Tommy, rubs a thumb over the splotch, looking at the statue with relief, and embarrassment for assuming something so, buckwild. Yeah, she tried to curse him yesterday, so, that could be, the reason this stone thing is, happening. Heh.  
  
Wait. Didn’t Thompson say she only stole hands? How would she...  
  
He shows her the mark on his hand, quizzical. “You uh, did this?”  
  
She steeples her fingers in delight. “Oh, yes good! I’m not used to spells other than the good old Limb Removal, so I was worried it didn’t work right! Oh, but no, that’s perfect!”  
  
Ask a stupid question…  
  
“So, yes.” The hag clears her throat, putting back on her dark and wicked persona. “YOU SHALL BE TURNED COMPLETELY TO STONE FOR YOUR VANITY! BY THE END OF THE DAY, EVERY INCH OF YOUR BODY WILL BE COLD AND PETRIFIED FOR YOUR INSOLENCE!”  
  
Tommy rolls his eyes, nonplussed. There’s always a catch with these things. “An’ how do I undo it?”  
  
A toothy smile creeps along the old lady’s face, letting Tommy take in her poor hygiene and bad breath. There is an earnest twinkle in her eye, but the way the corners of her mouth upturn puts a pit in Tommy’s stomach. As her lips move, a sense of familiarity washes over him He knows the script to these situations much too well for his own liking.  
  
“Oh, well, I can reverse it at anytime! All I want from you, is a little date with me, handsome.”  
  
Yep. He should have figured. Some sort of mystical entity wants to get with him. Again. It’s the musician thing, isn’t it? People just dig musicians way too much.  
  
“Thanks, but, no thanks, lady.”  
  
Before she even has time to retort, he goes to slam the door in her face.  
  
As Tommy tries however, in a motion akin to lightning, she grabs his left hand and stares it over intently, as if gazing into an entire universe from the wrinkles in his skin.  
  
“Everything’s broken on you. Broken Heart line, a Broken Mind line with far too many crosses, two Broken Life lines… the only solid one is Fate.”  
  
She slowly traces the deep line in his hand that starts at the bottom of his thumb, and goes all the way to his ring finger, intersecting with what she called the Life lines. The ordeal leaves Tommy stunned, frozen in place. What could this lady see?  
  
“You’re a marked man. Cursed since even before I stepped in. There’s a destiny in store for you, boy, and it’s not a pretty one.”  
  
They lock eyes for only a moment, as neither even so much as breathe.  
  
Quickly, Tommy regains himself, and yanks his arm away from her, baring his teeth.  
  
“Yeah, a real romantic one you are! Why don’t you and some other buzzards go out fer bingo or somethin’?!”  
  
The door comes to a proper slam as Tommy storms back in, fuming. Did he _ask_ for a palm reading?! He stops, and looks at the Fate line in his hand, tracing it with his thumb like she did with her finger. The rage within him, simmers down, as a new, more somber and reflective emotion springs forth. Marked man. His mind, drifts to the scar on the lower left of his back. Yeah… he’s marked, alright…  
  
He shakes it out of his head, and focuses back on the more pressing matter of petrification. This Shack has a computer, right? There’s some forums and witch sites he used to frequent for advice back when he dated that Gorgon chick Mercedes. Should still be some recipes for stoneskin reversal on there, with any luck.  
  
Yeah, there’s nothing to worry about! This whole thing is no big deal! Ha, he’ll be right as rain before noon! Everything is gonna be just fine.  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
Everything is not just fine.  
  
Everything is very much not just fine.  
  
Nothing is working.  
  
Tommy keeps scrubbing at his arm in the sink, the dishrag he’s using soaked in an alchemical concoction made from a few assorted things from Ford’s black bag, and some lime juice. The grey splotches are still growing up his arm, and it’s getting harder and harder to move his fingers. Parts where the stone hasn’t taken over are almost raw with how much he’s been trying to undo the magic. Eventually, out of physical and emotional exhaustion, Tommy collapses into the sink, leaning over the side and letting his legs going limp from under him. The cool metal feels calming on his hot face, his watering eyes leaking into the basin.    
  
He’s tried _seven_ different recipes, and not a single one has done anything to stop it! All this has done is made the ingredient collecting that much harder! Now, he has get what Doc asked him to find, _and_ replace all the stuff he’s already used! As much as it pains him to admit, he, might have to just, cowboy up, and call the old man. Could he let his pride take that kind of hit? He looks at the growing spots on his arm, the dryness yet inability to scratch driving him entirely bonkers. Yes. His ego’s gotta be put to the side for this. There’s something a bit bigger at stake here than just his life.  
  
He sighs, slides his wristbands back on, and goes over to the old rotary phone on the table by the big window, dialing in the number as best he can with his stiff fingers. What was he even going to say? ‘Sorry, a witch cursed me because I was slacking off yesterday?’ No, he can’t say that, the geezer would probably have a heart attack. That, or fire him on the spot. Maybe he’d actually turn him into a squirrel this time? It, might not be as bad as Mr. Stan made it sound. Don’t have to worry about human things like witch curses when you’re a nutrat.  
  
Dial tone. At least it’s ringing. See, things are gonna be fine, Tommy. Yeah, you’re gonna have to admit you messed up to Doc, but, hey, his brother encouraged it!     Plus, it’s not that bad of a setback, really. Couple days? They could make up for that time lickity-split if they buckle down and get to work. He’s had worse time-crunches, like that time his old manager made him record five songs in a row, back to back. It’s gonna be oka-  
  
_“Hello! This is Stanford Pines.”_  
  
“Hey Doc, it’s To-”  
  
_“-This isn’t actually a phone number, so sorry! This is a pager I’ve managed to give a crude voicemail system. I’d say ‘leave your name after the beep’, but so far, the system can only log phone numbers! So, please know I’ll try and contact you back as soon as I can!”_ _  
__  
_ Tommy’s heart sinks, as the phone falls from his hand like the stone his other is becoming. That’s right. Doc, doesn’t have a cell phone, Doc has that weird pager. He can’t, just call up Ford for advice like that. Wh-why did he think it would be that easy? That simple? Stupid, idiot, moron…  
  
He’s running out of options, and beating himself up over it isn’t gonna fix the situation. Who does he know locally? Soos and Melody? No, they’re off on a date, and he can’t ruin that for them. Wendy and her friends? No, they’re just kids, he doesn’t need to tangle them all up in this. His fingers go numb. Oh gosh, okay okay, maybe, it doesn’t have to be all of them. Maybe he can single out one to go to. Which one? Thompson’s too skittish, Nate and Lee are kind of a package deal and he doesn’t want to have to tell both of them, Tambry probably wouldn’t look up from her phone…  
  
That leaves, Wendy. Yeah, she seems like the most reliable and cool-headed out of the bunch. The ring leader, one could say. Even if she couldn’t help him directly, her level-headed thinking might help calm down his own rampant anxieties. Yet, he also caught himself wondering if that might be too much to throw at a teenager. Would that scar her? Emotionally? He, didn’t want to hurt-  
  
The numbness rises up, Tommy no longer having any feeling in his entire left hand.  
  
_…To heck with it. She can get a friggin’ therapist._  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
“-OH, FOR THE LOVE OF PETE!”  
  
It’d taken him precious hours of meandering around town, asking for directions in one of Ford’s oversized hoodies to hide the stoneining, but Tommy had finally found the Corduroy household. Actually, it was more like a, cabin-hold? Cottage-hold? Whatever, you get the idea.    
  
On the door, was only a note that read:  
  
**SURPRISE APOCALYPSE TRAINING: BE BACK AROUND MIDNIGHT** **  
****  
** The words hit Tommy’s heart like a shotgun. He’d scoured the whole dang town for this place, asking every Tom, Dick, and Clancy for the address while claiming increasingly ridiculous yet innocuous relation to her family as to not raise suspicion.  
  
“Yeah I’m just supposed to deliver a letter there.”  
“We hung out yesterday, and she forgot to tell me where she lived?”  
“There’s been a weddin’ and I’m her new cousin, but I lost the directions to her house.”  
“There’s been a death and-look can you tell me or not?”  
“For the love of everythin’ good in this godforsaken and broken Earth, shut up. I don’t care about your omelettes, and I don’t care about your stinkin’ coffee!”  
  
He was, probably a little bit too mean to that last lady, but she just kept going on and on about _nothing_ … and time was not on his side. The petrification had gone up his entire arm, and it was spreading down his torso. Finally, he’d gotten the address (and spent a good while trying to find it among the forest) and was all ready to knock on the door, when he spotted that dang, dirty note. What even _was_ Apocalypse Training? Why did it have to be midnight?! He kicks at the log wall in rage, but feels no pain in his foot as the vibrations of the impact travel up his leg. He quivers in fear.  
  
It’s spreading faster, now.  
  
What time even was it? Four? Three-thirty? Ugh! Who even cares? Not like it matters much. He’s gonna be a statue by midnight, and there’s no one around to help him. No Doc, no Wendy, and he’s not about to risk another mishap with Soos and Melody. His legs, though slightly stiff, still wobble out from under him, his knees like gelatin. The wood stairs leading to the porch are where he chooses to sit down on, and… weep. But, why waste tears, Tommy? After all he’s done, he deserves this. He knows he deserves this. He brought back some big evil guy, shirked his job to go have fun, wasted materials, made Doc put trust in him when he clearly isn’t cut out for any sort of responsibility, trusted demons, trusted Junior…  
  
Hell, he couldn’t even stand around and look pretty long enough to make his mother happy! Who does that?! Who can’t even find it in themselves to make their own mom happy?! Monster! Demon! Selfish, stupid little brat! Maybe when he’s solid rock he can finally manage to stand still and be ogled like some sort of fancy dolly! Haha! Too little too late, Tommy! About six years too late! Mom’s finally getting all she wanted out of you, and she’s not even here to enjoy it!  
  
More thoughts like this hit him like a hurricane. Rapidly and heavily, they beat him down. Heh. Marked man was right. Marked by his own stupidity! None of this would have even happened if he hadn’t been impulsive and played hookie! He wouldn’t be crying on the doorstep of some teenage girl he hardly knew as he slowly turned to stone, he wouldn’t have lost his cool camera, he’d have never of met that witch-  
  
Wait, that witch! That, Hand Witch! She, said she could reverse this, at any time!  
  
Y’know, in exchange for a _date_.  
  
He mulls it over. Sure, okay, fine, one little date couldn’t, be so bad. There’s been plenty of other people he’s gone out with that were way worse! Danica was a cultist for crying out loud! It was, better than the alternative, at any rate. The main problem, now, was where would he even find her?  
  
She wouldn’t’ve, actually gone out to bingo with a bunch of other buzzards, right?  
  
...Right?  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
Welp.  
  
That’s, one stroke of good luck today.  
  
In the parking-lot of the local bingo hall, alongside a “No-Entry for Stan Pines” sign on the front gate, was, what looked like, a… car? Throne? Car-throne? Made on top of a writhing, sickly-green severed hand. Hand Witch. Hand Car. Makes sense, in a gross kinda way.  
  
As he limps past the vehicle (parked almost appropriately in the Handicap spot), several of the hands crawling over it wave hello to him. He tries to wave back with his left arm, and manages some success, but gets his arm stuck in an upright position, his palm flat, and fingers scrunching down, like claws. Yeah, because that’s not ominous at all. He hurries as fast as his heavy legs can carry him, trying to hold his rigid arm down and out of view.  
  
It’s taken him too long to just, get here, the sun’s already starting to set. Stupid legs, couldn’t take him any faster than a snail's pace, could they? Whatever. There’s at least one glimmer of hope left, and it’s the best bet he’s got.  
  
With a small ring of the bell above the door, he shuffles in. A man in dressed like a barbershop quartet singer calls out bingo numbers to a mostly empty room. Tommy spots a few faces he recognizes from around town. The guy with the electric blue mohawk and booty shorts that nearly picked a fight with him over go-karts… a banjo minstrel with various head tattoos… some big tubby guy in a pink hawaiian shirt and straw hat... an old bald man in a sweater vest, slacks rolled up to his knees, no shoes, with a large beard drooping down to the floor, and…  
  
The Hand Witch, alongside a small wake of _actual_ buzzards with Bingo cards and stamps, in the very back row.  
  
The man in the front looks up for a second, and then back down at the number ball he was calling out.  
  
“G-26?”  
  
Two people and a vulture stamp their cards, and patiently await the next number.  
  
Hardly able to lift his feet, he makes his way over to the Witch. She’s almost too caught up in her game to notice him. At least, that’s what she lets him think.  
  
“So, came crawling back, eh hotshot?”  
  
Tommy’s, a little shocked at the sudden quip. A bit more of his left leg goes numb as she looks behind her shoulder, and right at him. He nods wordlessly.  
  
“That’s too bad. Took your advice, and I’m completely over you!”  
  
“W-wh…”  
  
“Yep. Guess all I needed was a little time to myself with the girls, and not be tied down to some man.” She chortles, scratching one giant condor under the chin. “Funny how that works, huh Helga?”  
  
“But, you can’t-”  
  
“B-17?”  
  
The Hand Witch looks down at her card, and squeals in delight, waving her hand in the air. “Bingo! Bingo!”  
  
“Well, alright. That’s it for tonight. Come up here and claim your cash prize.”  
  
She rises from her seat and waddles over as a small chorus of groans ring out. Mostly from the straw hat man and the guy with the mohawk. Tommy, however, is silent, quivering, and staring intensely into the distance in front of him. He, didn’t just, hear that, right? No, no, no… there, there had to be some mistake! Haha! She… she couldn’t’ve, just…  
  
As she passes by him to head out, he reaches out with his still soft hand, the stiff arm sproinging up and wobbling like a cartoon, and grabs her shoulder.  
  
“C-can’t you just undo th-”  
“- ** _UNHAND MEEEEEEEEE!_** ”  
  
In a primordial shriek of rage, the Hand Witch’s eyes glow brightly as she twists around to look at her beggar, her hair floating upwards, dancing like a ghostly veil. The entire space around the two even seems to go dark, a black, ancient energy swarming over them. Several of the customers stop to look at her, but, shrug it off, and go about their own business. They’ve all seen weirder, and of course, it’s always better, to just, Never Mind All That.  
  
Tommy however, recoils his arm at the horrifying sight, and sees more grey spots start to form on his right hand.  
  
“...Hrmph. You men are all so desperate!”  
  
As she toddles through the door, a vulture perches itself on Tommy’s bent-upwards arm, grooming part of its wing. His mile-long stare and loose jaw exemplify just what kind of emotions are rushing through his head. This, couldn't be happening. He, he’s been trying so hard, all day, to just, find some sort of half-solution, and, nobody’s around to help him. Were they, purposefully avoiding him? Even the person who put him in this situation didn’t want anything to do with his messy self. He’s back at square one, for the third time today, and now, there’s not even much of it left.  
  
He wants to cry, he wants to let out screams and bang on the floor, but, he, can't. There’s a numbness welling up inside him, that’s somehow not due to the petrification. He’s going to be a stone statue, and, there won’t even be anyone else around to know. Alone. He’s, going to be _alone_ , forever…  
  
With one last clench of his right fist as the lights go out in the hall, he musters up the strength to shake off the bird of prey and walk onwards, stumbling out of the building. Maybe, just maybe, if he screams enough into the night sky and deserted streets of a town fully asleep, someone will hear him, and come at least comfort him before he’s no longer able to move.  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
“SOMEONE, PLEASE, _HELP ME_!”  
  
Tommy’s throat was raw from the amount of desperate screams he’s let loose as his heavy legs stomp down the empty street. He passes by one house, and the inhabitants quickly shut their curtains and turn out their lights. Since he lost sight in his left eye, he knew he must have been grotesque to look at, but they, they didn’t have to treat him like a monster…  
  
Hah, they, actually sort of do, don’t they? He, sort of is a monster now. One arm perpetually raised to strike and claw-like, the other almost that way too. Like a misshapen gargoyle. More tears stream down his face as he chugs along. _Thud, thud, thud._ It’s like his feet were tied to cinder-blocks. Like his feet _were_ cinder-blocks. They, kinda are. Rock. Almost everything is solid rock. The stiffness of his torso confirms it, as it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. He begs out again, wailing in futility. Tommy almost gives up to collapse on the ground, when he sees a figure walking down the sidewalk. They’ve got their back turned, and there’s a lot of tears in Tommy’s good eye, but that huge bush of white was unmistakable. It’s one of the patrons from the Bingo Hall. Seems he did some late night grocery shopping before going home. Finally. Someone.  
  
The old man’s whistling a tune as he momentarily stops under the streetlight, checking his watch for the time. 11:37. Boy howdy, was it getting late. He hopes all his animals aren't getting too restless without him. The air is stifling for a moment, and he’s about to keep moving, until he hears the clunk of heavy steps from behind him.  
  
_Clunk. Clunk. Clunk._ _  
__  
_ He feels his hands shake as he turns to look at the source. It’s looks like a boy, with an upright hand. It shuffles towards him. He can hear the heavy, deep breaths it’s taking as it steps out of the shadow, and under the light.  
  
“Great gallutin’ hogwallop!”  
  
The monster in front of him is a being half-made of stone. One eye frozen in a state of pure fright, and the other flesh and blood, staring at him in an unbridled and soulful despair. One hand reaches out to him, still semi-flesh, until it hardens into pure rock, perpetually stuck in a claw formation, just like the upright one. In a raspy voice, the monster tries to speak.  
  
“ _Help… me…_ ”  
  
Now, Fiddleford Hadron McGucket wasn’t known for his, calm demeanor, when it came to flights of the supernatural. Tonight? Tonight was no different. Instinctively, he sticks the handle of the grocery bag in his teeth, and hurriedly scampers away on all fours, desperately trying to get away from whatever evil spirit or horrible beast this was.  
  
...Which, is just about the worst thing that could have happened for Tommy. He goes to try and chase him, but sees a bright neon light, shining only a little ways down the road. It’s a sign, with big pink letters that spell out ‘The Royal.’ The building looks like it’s some sort of… movie theater.  
  
The movie theater! That’s, that’s where Soos and Melody are! Hope reinvigorates Tommy as he almost trips over his own feet, using all of his strength to rush towards the beacon of salvation. Each step he takes feels weightier and weightier. The time it takes feels something like an eternity. He can hardly walk at all, but he gets there, by the sweet Lord above, does he get there. With a shove, he busts open the cinema doors with all his might. He screams out, his words with a dirty croak behind them.  
  
“ _HELP! SOOS! MELODY! SOMEBODY!”_ _  
__  
_ It’s 11:54. _  
__  
_ Thompson, Nate, and Lee, at first all leaping up in shock due to the sudden outburst, instantly recognize the voice shouting across the lobby.  
  
“T-tommy?!”  
  
They all rush out from their stations to check on their friend. Tommy struggles to say anything else, his mouth drying out and his throat becoming coarse. He just keeps trying to go forwards.  
  
11:57.  
  
The questions pour on him. What’s been happening? Why does he look like that? Is he okay? Tommy wants to answer, he really does, but, his mouth is far too dry for any sort of words to come out. He raises his right arm to try and shoo them away, but it gets stuck in the same upright position as his left.  
  
11:59  
  
He’s right outside the main theater doors. His legs, they stop completely. He, he can’t move. No part of his body can even make a flinch. The only thing still flesh, is his right eye, and even that was starting to lose its softness. The muffled sound of worried inquiries sting at him. He’s almost there. Just, a few more steps, and he could have reached them. If he wasn’t such an idiot. If he wasn’t such a failure. If he had just done what he was told to do. A single tear streaks down his face as he loses his last bit of sight.  
  
12:00.  
  
There’s nothing but himself, now.  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
“Can he hear us?!”  
  
Three teenagers huddle around their friend. Only, the other day, he seemed a lot less, stiff? They all scream and run in circles, panicking about the state of him. He came in looking like a rock, screamed a couple names, and just, froze! Right outside the theater door! What the heck was that about?!  
  
The names he croaked out seem to have owners, as a pair of people barge out of the theater in the midst of a terrifying chase scene playing on screen. They go to ask for Tommy, only to greet his stony, panicked face inches away from their own, a terrified scream coming from the sound system.  
  
Melody grabs Soos’s hand out of shock, and he squeezes it in turn.  
  
He turns to the panicked teenagers, worry in his voice. “W-what happened?”  
  
They start ranting, about the very little they know, until a green hand scurries in through the wide open front door. Thompson tries to stomp at it. Nate throws boxes of candy at the crawly limb as it quickly chases him behind the counter. It then, much like a dog sniffing out a trail, stops pestering Nate to follow the scent. It crawls up Tommy’s still body, reaching the top of his head. Two taps. The sound of fingers on stone. It props itself upright and motions towards the door, beckoning for, something?  
  
As if on cue, an army of it’s skittering, twitchy, pale green kin erupts from the open front door. Thompson leaps into Lee’s arms as Melody gets in front of Soos, guarding him from attack. The hands, however, focus on one target and one target alone. Tommy’s petrified body. It wobbles back and forth, until falling over on a bed of squirming fingers. With that same horrified expression, he’s slowly carted out of the cinema as a thunderclap breaks the silence.  
  
“Quick! After him!”  
  
It soon starts raining as Soos and Melody bolt out of the lobby. They give chase to the twitchy mob carrying off the newest resident to the Shack, but Soos trips and falls on the slippery pavement, scraping his knee. Melody stops to help him up as they watch both Tommy and the hands slink deeper into the unseeable darkness of the night. Their clothes feel heavy on their skin as the rain gets more intense. The whirlwind of events plays heavy on their minds. This, this was beyond their skillset. The hands were already too far away for them to ever hope to catch up now. They need someone better at hunting things, and with better fitness in general. Someone who knows the woods and has all the paths memorized, who can track even the faintest of trails for miles. Someone who can land a bullseye with an axe from fifty feet away. Someone with sharp eyes, and an even sharper wit.  
  
Soos adjusts his hat, staring at the ground. “We need to call Wendy.”  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
“Gus, don’t forget to clean the kitchen counters like you promised, dweeb!”  
  
Wendy hangs her pack up on her designated hook as she goes back to her room, a long day of training behind her. Seriously. They were planning on getting home at midnight sharp. It’s 12:20. Her brothers had already shot off to their own devices before her, but, eh, she didn’t mind. Not everything’s a competition, after all. As soon as she slunk into her room, however, a familiar buzzing shakes her phone to the brink of falling off the nightstand, as, much like her dad instructed, she’d left it at home. She doesn’t take a lot of things too seriously, but Apocalypse Training? Ever since last year, she knew better than to shrug that off. Back on the subject of the phone, she hurriedly goes over to check it, but it stops ringing as it enters her hands.  
  
Five missed calls.  
  
Two from Soos, three from Melody.  
  
She, furrows her brow. Soos? Soos she knew liked to redial a ton. Guy blew up her cell anytime something weird went down. Melody, however? Melody _never_ redials. Least of all three times. No, something was _wrong._ Seriously wrong,  
  
It starts ringing again.  
  
Soos.  
  
She answers.  
  
The sound of rain hitting a car roof and the soft rumble of an engine is on the other end.  
  
“Dog! Oh, finally! We’ve been calling and calling and calling and-”  
  
“Soos, cool down, I’m here. What’s up?”  
  
She hears him ruffle around on the other end. “I… dude I, I don’t know how… how do I explain…”  
  
“Tommy’s... gone” Melody says, loud enough for the phone to pick up, as she furiously combs her fingers through her hair.  
  
Wendy almost drops the phone. Gone? How can he be _gone_? I mean, in this town, people do kinda just, vanish sometimes, but like, he seemed at least competent enough to navigatie it? At least for a _day_.  
  
“Wh… where did he go?!”  
  
“He, okay so he was like a-a statue or something, and, oh man, there were so many of these, weird green severed hands-”  
  
Oh.  
  
Ohhhhh noooooooooo.  
  
The stone thing is different than what she expected, but hands? Oh, hands only fit one person’s MO who’d even have plausible beef with the poor guy that just got kidnapped.  
  
That gross old witch lady Tommy bumped into.  
  
Wendy stares in the distance with a steely determination. “Get home.”  
  
She doesn’t even give the pair time to react as she hangs up the call, and immediately goes to her closet. A row of flannel shirts get shoved in half as she picks up the box hiding behind them. The axe she uses for Apocalypse Training? That’s just some dumb thing she got at an outdoors store in the mall. It’s sturdy and trusty and gets the job done, but, no. She can’t use that one for this. That isn’t a dusty crone hunting axe. This scenario? This is a job for Ol’ Sandy.  
  
Ol’ Sandy was an axe she first made in middle school, and it’s been a pet project of hers ever since to improve it. A sturdy Black Locust handle, dyed black and worn in just the right way to fit the grooves of her hand like a dream. An alchemically silvered (via Ford early last August), carbon steel, razor-sharp, double-bitted head that could split a human hair in half vertically. The entire thing’s so perfectly balanced for throwing, that she once killed a fly mid-flight at thirty feet away. Ol’ Sandy, she’s not a for-fun axe. She’s the kind of axe you go to when things gotta get done, and they gotta get done right.  
  
Last time Wendy pulled the girl out, the world was ending.  
  
This time, it’s for personal business.  
  
After all, she may have had, a tiny, little something to do with the trouble Tommy’s currently going through. I mean, of course it’s not _her_ fault the Witch cursed him, and he’s like, an adult who should _totally_ be able to take care of himself who she’s _not at all_ responsible for, but… she was the one who, got him to ditch work in the first place, and… he did kinda, get her and her friends into all those cool places around town. Heck, the guy even paid for a bunch, if not, most of it…  
  
She… she owes him this much. He’s, nice enough, and nice people don’t deserve to be stone statues. That’s how, morals and stuff work, right? Whatever. There was a witch that needed hunting, and a dude that needed saving. She could save the philosophy for later.  
  
Her Pine-Tree hat hangs on her chair as she ties her flannel shirt around her waist, and uses a spare strip of cloth as a headband. The howling-wolf tank top seems almost symbolic of her anger as she holsters Ol’ Sandy and heads towards the door, grabbing her gear off the coat rack she only put away moments before. As she’s about to turn the knob, she hears a gruff voice clear.  
  
“Wendy?”  
  
It’s her dad.  
  
She spins around to see him standing behind her, already cozy in a bathrobe and slippers, both red flannel, and a piping mug of hot cocoa. Most of the town knew Manly Dan as a loud, boisterous man with a knack for violence, but, Wendy knew her dad Dan Corduroy as a very, soft-spoken and gentle individual. He never _once_ raised his voice around her for some reason, and generally, the only _punishment_ she ever got from him, was having to live with the guilt of knowing that she almost worried the big sappy lug to death. Trust her on this, that was _enough_.  
  
“Sweetie, we just got home?”  
“Dad...”  
  
She didn’t have time to explain. In just a few quick motions, he sees Sandy, and Wendy’s own determined gaze. The grip on his cocoa tightens as he recognizes the blade. He bites his cheek, knowing anything he’ll say forbidding it is ultimately futile.  
  
“...Do you need me to drive you there?”  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
Thunder booms as the rain from the freak storm falls down even harder. Wendy checks her watch. 1:17. The tall trees have shelter her from most of the downpour, but the air was still a bit chilly and wet.  
  
It’s taken her about an hour, but the handprint-shaped tracks lead her straight to it, the base of the mountain.  
  
She looks up through the rain, and at the peak, light emanates from a small cave. That has to be the place. Now, there’s a perfectly good path she could take up to the top, but… as she mulls it over in her brain, where’s the fun in that?  
  
Out of her backpack comes a long rope, with a grappling hook at the end of it. How far off was the edge? 40… maybe 50 feet? With a hook this light, should be a cinch. She spins it a few times as she builds up speed, and once it’s got a good motion, she launches the clawed hook up in the air.  
  
It reaches the top, and snags on a firm, solid part of the rock. She tugs it twice for good measure. The hook stays. Now, the only task was scaling the mountainside. 50-foot vertical climb? Ha! She’s been doing worse all day. Her feet find holds in the rock wall, and up she goes. Left, right, left, right, left, and so on, until about 30 feet up, and her right heel slips out of it’s groove due to the rain. As her leg flails in the air, lightning flashes in the sky, and she sees the ground below. Huh. that’s a... long way down…  
  
No, don’t think about it. She looks back up, squinting through the rain. You’re over halfway there! No sense in getting cold feet now. Thunder pops as she continues on.  
     
30 becomes 25.  
20 becomes 15.  
10 becomes 5.  
Summit.  
     
Sandy’s in her hand as she tip-toes into the cave. The sounds of what might be rats, but she knows are hands, tap and scratch at the rock walls. She gets to the main chamber, and prepares for a horror show, but instead finds…  
  
A tasteful, posh, parlor-style, den… thingy.  
  
Wendy squints. This sudden mood change and jarring shift in decor, smacks of Mabel.  
  
Hand Witch is on the sofa doing a cross stitch when she sees Wendy, and smiles with an open mouth in delight. “Oh, a guest this late? Make yourself comfy, dear. Awful storm out tonight.”  
  
Wendy crinkles her nose up as she stays silent, looking around for- “gRAHH!”  
  
She only turns around, and there’s her friend! There’s a couple of shawls and coats draping around his arms, the camera hangs around his neck, and a pointed hat sits his stony head, lopsided. He looks fearful, mouth open like he’s screaming, arms half-up in surrender, palms flat and… fingers, hooking like claws? The strangest sense of deja-vu creeps into her mind...  
  
Hand Witch hears her scream out, and looks up. “Oh, yes. That boy thought he was clever, didn’t he? With those silly little wristbands of his.”  
  
The crone goes back to her needle and thread as she hums merrily. “Oh, but my grimoire has more than just Hand Removal spells! I may be a Hand Witch, but I’m still, all gimmicks aside, a witch.”  
  
Wendy stares at her in disbelief as the crone continues on. “Said he didn’t want to be my boyfriend, but then the self-centered little fool came crawling back to me! I couldn’t take him, even though I desperately wanted to, not until he was fully stone.”  
  
“Much harder to run away when they’re stone.” The hag winks. “Plus, he makes a nice coat rack this way, don’t you think? What he gets for being so shallow.”  
  
Wendy grips Ol’ Sandy hard. Did, did this old lady just say that? That Tommy, the guy, who, y’know, selflessly paid for most of the activities the other day, who’s been working himself ragged for Ford all week, who humored her and hung out with her friends even though they assumed he was a lonely kid, was _self-centered_ and _shallow_? That it’s, somehow, selfish and an unforgivable sin, to not want to go on a date with someone? Someone, may she remind you, who tried to coerce the guy into it by cursing him to turn to stone? This witch really wants her to believe he’s a rude, vain, misogynistic pig for not wanting to be a cougar’s boy toy and arm candy?  
  
Nuh-uh. Wendy isn’t having any of it.  
  
“So, uh, how do you turn him back?”  
  
The witch pshaws, and holds up a dusty leather-bound tome. “Oh, the reversal spell is in my grimoire here, but if you wanted it, you’d have to cut it out of my cold, dead hands!”  
  
Wendy spins Sandy around her fingers and then looks at the Hand Witch. A smirk. She can work with that.  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
Soos paces around the Shack’s den in his soaking wet sweater-vest. Melody sits at the table, watching Lancelotl the Axolotl swim absentmindedly in his tank as she combs her fingers rapidly through her damp hair. Wendy’s still radio silent, and it’s nearing 3 am.  
  
The silence gets her. Melody cringes. “W-what if the, hand, things, got her too a-and-”  
  
“Melody…” Soos says, snapping from his trance and pulling out a chair, “Things are gonna be okay, alright?”  
  
He lays out his hand open-palm on the table for her to grab. Offering, not demanding. Soos knows she’s got issues with touch, and even though he wants more than anything to hold and comfort her, he respects her boundaries way more than that want. She declines his hand.  
  
He nods in understanding. “Wendy’s one of the toughest people I know. Some, freaky hands aren’t gonna keep her down.”  
  
“She’s only 16 Soos.”  
“Hey, I’ve seen her punch an adult bear before.”  
  
Heavy knocking pounds on the door as a bolt of lightning makes the lights flicker. The noise scares the pair, but Soos brews his courage to the sticking place, and trudges forward. Wendy or hands, he’s ready to take on both.  
  
The doorknob turns open, and thunder booms as he sees a muddy and panting Wendy, holding a statuified Tommy with just one arm, resting him on her hip.  
  
She shoves him out of the way and props Tommy by the recliner, and then puts her hands on her knees to catch her breath.  
  
“Are you okay?” Melody asks.  
  
Wendy looks at her with a little confusion, and then waves her worry off. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”  
  
There’s a moment of silence. Melody sighs and resumes fidgeting, as Soos closes the door. He looks at Tommy, the guy’s whole deal giving him goosebumps. He seems so terrified. Soos can’t help but wonder if he’s frozen in that emotion. That fear. He puts a hand on his shoulder in comfort. Yeah, he may hardly know the guy, but Dr. Pines seems to trust him, and that guy went though most of his life thinking no one was trustworthy, so… Tommy’s gotta be doing something right?  
  
“So, how’re we gonna…”  
“Ten steps ahead of ya, man.”  
  
Before Soos can finish his thought, Wendy holds up a decrepit tome, with a thin, wrinkly green hand firmly grasping onto it.  
  
“Oh, gross! It’s probably gonna start skittering around and touching things with it’s weird twitchy fingers…”  
  
The severed hand, once pulled off the book by Wendy, falls to the floor lifeless and limp, without even so much as a twitch. It’s then picked up by Gompers as he chews on it and makes his way to, wherever he goes in the middle of the night. The entire den goes dead silent.  
  
Soos looks at Wendy expectantly.  
  
She sweats. “We take this to our graves.”  
  
After that awkward encounter, she and Soos hoist Tommy up the stairs, and place him on top of Soos’ bed in Stan’s old bedroom, Wendy making sure the camera’s safely on the nightstand.  
  
Soos turns though the book as Wendy stands by the bed, looking over Tommy. Is this her fault? She’s already responsible for three idiots at home, four including her dad, she doesn’t need to feel responsible for this one too. Yet, here she is, worrying about him. Does the saving his life from being a coat rack for all eternity make them even for go-karts? It’s, not really a full rescue, is it? Yeah, he’s home, but, he’s not really, moving. Is he alive in there? Can he hear anything? Can he see anything? Why does he have to look so friggin’ sad?! This whole thing is, stupid! Not her fault no one was at the house to help him!  
  
“Uhhh…” Soos frowns. “Dude, I-I can’t read this?”  
  
Wendy’s attention is immediately drawn away from Tommy. “What? Lemmie see it, maybe you’re holding upside down…”  
  
She flips through the book herself, and to her horror, the entire thing is in nonsense language! Latin? Some, weird code? Whatever it is, it’s completely incomprehensible!  
  
“Ughhhh! Are you _kidding_ me?!”  
  
Soos pats her shoulder as she seethes in rage. Who writes their magic book in gibberish?! Jerks, that’s what! She wants to punch the wall, but settles for taking a pillow and placing it below Tommys legs to punch on the bed. She shakes as she leans on top of it, holding her head between her hands, as Soos fidgets with the book, intimidated by her outburst.  
  
“We could call Dr. Pines?”  
  
Wendy scoffs. “Yeah, on what cell phone? He never checks that stupid pager!”  
  
Soos looks to the floor in dejection. Wendy collapses face first into the pillow. The blinds on all the windows are closed and the overhead light on, but a roll of thunder stirs the silent air. So, Ford’s out until he gets back from his trip. He’s, really not gonna be happy about this, but that’s a bridge they’ll cross when they get to it. What could they do in the meanwhile?  
  
“Do you know anyone who could, do his job until he’s normal? Guy’s got like, chores and stuff Dr. Pines needs him to do, and, they seem pretty important...”  
  
It’s like a lightbulb turns on in Wendy’s head. Yeah, she knows some people who’d be willing to help.  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
“You want us to WHAT?!”  
     
The entire group of teens cannot believe what they just heard.  
  
Wendy tries to settle them back down. “Yeah, I know work sucks, but these are like, kinda important things that need to happen.”  
  
The sun shines over the grass, reflecting off the still-drying rain. Everyone but Tambry, who they quickly brought up to speed, knows about Tommy’s current affliction. What they didn’t know, was that Tommy had a mountain of work that needed to be done, given to him by Dr. Pines. Y’know, the guy these teens are all fairly sure could kill a man with his extra ring finger.  
  
“What if he gets mad about Tommy and turns us into goop with his plasma ray?!”  
“Or like, Frankensteins us all up into some weird teen corpse monster?!”  
“WHAT IF HE USES US AS GUINEA PIGS FOR HIS WEIRD CONTRAPTIONS?!”  
  
Wendy pinches her brow. “Guys, c’mon, Ford’s not gonna do any of that, I promise. He’s like, a big grown-up Dipper!”  
  
Tambry looks up from her phone. “Didn’t that kid summon zombies once?”  
  
“Yeah, but like, that’s not the point!” Wendy argues. “Okay, sure, Ford’s gonna be _upset_ , but he’ll be a lot _less_ upset if we band together and get these stupid chores done.”  
  
Lee crosses his arms. “Why’s this suddenly our responsibility, anyway? It’s not our fault Tommy’s a rock.”  
  
“Yeah! Why do we have to do his job for him?” Nate and Thompson join in, and Tambry even puts up her phone. “It’s summer!”  
  
Wendy looks at them all solemnly. “Who paid for go-karts Saturday?”  
  
The teens look amongst themselves. “...Tommy.”  
  
“For bowling?”  
  
“Tommy.”  
  
“For food, for golf, and for the arcade? Who did we assume was a year younger than our group, but still hung out with us? Who really didn’t have to do all that, but did it anyways because he’s that flippin’ nice? And, guess who _won’t_ be able to pay for anything anymore unless we help him out?”  
  
Thompson coughs as Nate kicks the ground. They get the point.  
  
“Alright then team.” Wendy says as she adjusts her hat. “Move out.”  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
It’s Friday, June 7th. The gift shop bell rings, with the entire Pines clan laughing as they step through the door. Wendy’s feet are resting on the counter, as Melody sweeps the floors. Not even looking up from her magazine, Wendy does a sort of, combination of a wave and a finger gun at them as Melody perks up.  
  
“Oh, hey! How was the trip?”  
  
Stan smiles as he shoves Wendy’s boots down. “Terrible! We’d been banned from all the attractions last year, so Poindexter here got us lost in the middle of nowhere.”  
  
“Oh, hush, we were not lost!” Ford laughs back, elbowing his twin in the arm. “I just got a little turned around is all. At least I found a nice campground for us to stay at!”  
  
Dipper looks around for a very certain person as Mabel pats her pig on the head. “A wolf tried to eat Waddles, so I punched it!”  
  
Everyone’s recounting more stories as Dipper continues to survey the area. He goes to open the Employees Only door, when it swings open, knocking him onto his butt.  
  
An entire herd of teens scramble through, making a beeline for Ford. One by one, they present him with information.  
  
“There’s a corner of the northeastern part of the forest is the only part we didn’t get fully covered in sensors, but everything else is good to go Dr. Pines!” Lee says as he hands him a stack of papers. Nate nods. “Also, there were a few things on the ingredients list we weren’t able to find. We got most of them though!”  
  
There’s a bewilderment on Ford’s face as they shove past Stan, high-fiving each other as they leave the Shack. Tambry steps up, and points to the papers in his hand. “There were two spikes this week, both of them not even registering as a 2. Also, get some better tech. The stuff in your basement is archaic.”  
  
The texting teen joins her friends outside, as Stan gives Ford a leer. Unlike everyone else, he knows what those sensors are supposed to be for.     
  
Ford shrugs. “I wanted to track something down to help teach Thomas a few things?”  
  
It’s not entirely a lie.  
  
Before Stan can retort, Thompson plops the large black bag into Ford’s grasp, and stands at attention. “I reorganized your entire supply and even put them in order of, not only alphabetically, but in pH levels and color, sir! Please don’t turn us into lab rats!”  
  
Ford doesn’t even have time to react as Thompson also heads out the door, stumbling, but then catching up with his friends. They start playing keep-away with his keys, laughing as if nothing is wrong. The entire chain of events feels surreal as Ford’s confusion only grows. Stan huffs.  
  
“Didn’t know you had an army of kids at the ready, Ford. D’ya keep ‘em in your coat or somethin’?”  
  
Taking the bag into his hand and holding the papers in his other, Ford shakes his head. “N-no, I have to say I’m confused as you, Stanley. These were all things I asked Thomas to do while I was away.”  
  
Wendy buries her face even deeper into her magazine as Melody stares back at the ground, furiously sweeping. Mabel hugs Waddles as a less than happy energy floats into the room. Stan drums his fingers on his bicep as he glances from one face to another, waiting for one of these yahoos to come clean. Something’s obviously wrong with the kid.  
  
Looking around the room forlornly, Ford speaks again. “Where _is_ Thomas, by the way? He should have, heard us pull in…”  
  
The vending machine opens to reveal Soos, who sees the entire scene, and smiles nervously, sweating slightly and not making eye-contact.  
  
Dipper hops to his feet. “Is, you-know-who down there?”  
  
Trembling, Soos shakes his head, fidgeting with his fingers.  
  
“Then where is the brat? Got him a coffee mug so he’ll stop drinking outta mine.”  
  
“Grunkle Stan, you stole that!”  
  
Stan puts a hand on his chest in fake shock as he turns to his niece. “For a good cause!”  
  
While they playfully argue, Wendy looks at Soos, and Soos looks back. They both walk towards Ford and silently lead him through the den, and upstairs. Dipper tries to follow, but Melody grabs him by the arm, shaking her head. This isn’t something a 13 year old should have to see.  
  
They lead him to the bedroom door, and motion for Ford to open it. He takes a deep breath. The doorknob turns, revealing…  
  
Ford sees Tommy, in that pose, while frozen in stone, and immediately closes the door with a loud slam. He covers his mouth. No. No! He’d only been gone a week! Thomas said he’d be fine, that he could handle…  
  
His hand is still on the knob as he stares at the door, feeling a pressure building up within him.  
  
“How did this happen?” Ford asks, voice slightly cracking.  
  
Soos shoves his hands in his pockets as Wendy crosses her arms, one of them tracing woodwork with their eyes, other staring at the ceiling.  
  
A glare shines over Ford’s glasses as he slowly turns to face them. “Don’t make me ask again.”  
  
Adamantly, they refuse to say anything, quivering in fear. Does he really need to know this? Can’t he just, let this go, read the thing from the book, and then everything goes back to normal?  
  
In a quick motion, almost too fast for the eye to see, he grabs both of them by the arms, and drags them down the hall. They both swallow hard as he grits his teeth. “Fine, if you don’t want to talk, I’ll just have to _make_ you.”  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
Ford stares them down, stone-faced, the reflection of the sun obscuring his eyes. His elbows rest on the table as he holds one hand over the other, and close to his face. The pleasant summer breeze chills both Soos and Wendy’s spines, as a small mountain of corn dogs sits on the table in front of them, freshly fried, and perfectly golden.  
  
They’re all sitting at an outdoor table for the local drive-in fast food place, an umbrella casting shade over their heads. Despite the lovely, peaceful atmosphere, the two employees can not be more tense. Why couldn’t Ford have just, asked how to reverse it first? They could’ve handled that real quick. It would’ve just been a simple matter of handing him the book, him doing his thing, and leaving Tommy to explain how this all went down. Yet, here they are, face to face with a very, very, VERY upset Stanford Pines.  
  
Despite being leaner than his brother, Ford’s physique is not something to sneeze at. It might be the hoodie jacket and turtleneck sweater combo talking, but right now, his arms seem huge enough to crush a human skull. Plus, for a man almost in his sixties, the guy’s spry enough to go toe-to-toe with a literal monsters. The kind with superhuman strength, the ability to melt brains, and rows of sharp teeth. Add all that with Stan’s height of 6’0” and, you have one scary grandpa on your hands.  
  
One that you really don’t want to get upset.    
  
A six-fingered hand takes a dog out of the basket with terrifying grace. He dips it twice in mustard, letting the excess drip back into the cup, and takes a slow bite. It’s utter agony. Taking a corndog out of the basket means having to come clean. Not touching them, or even refusing, means Ford will just, eat his fill, and dump the rest in the trash, wasting all those beautifully crispy crusts. It’s a catch-22 in the worst way.  
  
He’s already had two. Clock’s ticking.  
  
A few more bites, and he’s halfway done with it. He points the half-eaten dog at the pair sitting across from him. “Don’t, either of you two want one?”  
  
They don’t say anything.  
  
Ford sighs. He starts to get up from his seat. “That’s a real shame, I got these for the three of us, but, if you two don’t want any, I guess I’ll just have to… throw them away.”  
  
Soos winces as Ford goes to grab the basket, but suddenly, a hand from across the table grasps onto the old man’s wrist. The brim of her hat hides her eyes, but Ford sees Wendy grit her teeth.  
  
“It’s my fault.”  
  
The glare disappears from his glasses as he readjusts them, raising his eyebrows in curiosity. “You?”  
  
Both of them sit back down as Wendy tilts her hat up. She tries to form the words in her mouth.  
  
“After you left, me and Tommy got to talking and I… sorta convinced him to ditch work and, come hang out with me and my friends for the rest of the day.”  
  
Ford frowns, but listens attentively, nodding for her to continue.  
  
“It was all going fine, until he bumped into some, witch that like, steals hands?”  
  
Wendy sees Ford’s eyes go owlishly wide as she grabs a corndog and dunks it into the mustard. She chomps down on it, and chews a bit before continuing. “She cursed him and we all freaked out, but, he showed us that his wristbands were magic, and so… we didn’t think much of it...”  
  
“She, overheard, I’m guessing?” Ford pinches his brow. “Explains, _that_ , but why didn’t you call me as he was petrifying? Or, instant message one of the twins? You have their numbers.”  
  
“We weren’t around!” She admits. “No one was! Soos was at the movie theater all day with Melody, Dad sprung Apocalypse Training on me out of nowhere, and Abuelita… where did she go again?”  
  
Soos fidgets with his fingers. “Out gambling a few towns over with some old friends…”  
  
“Right.” Wendy says. “Besides, you never check that stupid pager!”  
  
Ford puffs up his chest. “I do too check it!”  
  
Even Soos gives him a look.  
  
“I do!” He exclaims. “Here, I’ll even check it right now to prove-”  
  
Ford clips it off his belt. He scrolls though it, and sees, clear as the sunshine around him:  
  
**Missed Call from Mystery Shack, 1:16 6/2/13** **  
****  
** “Oh.”  
  
The realization hits him like a truck. “He, tried to call me… and, I didn’t... notice.”  
  
Ford hangs his head as Wendy grabs another corn dog.  
  
“This isn’t your fault. It’s mine.” Ford says with a trembling lip. “I, should have…”  
  
“Uhh, Dr. Pines? I don’t think it’s anyone’s fault.” Suddenly, Soos pipes in.They all look at him as he taps the table. “I think this all a series of complicated events that spiraled out of anyone’s control, and to put the blame on one person would be oversimplifying the whole situation.”  
  
Everyone’s silent, until Wendy coughs.  
  
“Yeah, except it’s, kinda entirely the witch’s fault though? Can we blame her?”  
  
“Oh, totally dude!”  
“I am.”  
  
Ford laughs a bit after some more quiet passes. “I assume she kidnapped him, correct? How did you manage to get him back?”  
  
“Oh man.” Wendy’s eyes light up. “You are gonna love this.”  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
Tommy’s not sure how long it’s been. Hours? Days? Weeks? Time stops feeling real when you’re not able to interact with anything but your own thoughts. The urge to scream and cry out, faded away so long ago… He’s not really at peace with his situation, but he’s not, mortified by it anymore either.  
  
_‘You thinkin’ we’ll ever get out of this?’_ _  
__‘Dunno. It’d be nice to, like, eat again.’_ _  
__‘Or feel our face.’_ _  
__  
_ Tommy shrugs off the other voice. _‘I mean, it’s better than… suffering, I think.’_ _  
__  
__‘That’s such a worryingly low bar, kid.’_ _  
__  
_ The other voice makes a noise, similar to a tongue clicking the inside of a cheek, then both it and Tommy are quiet again. Talking to himself like this seems like the only way to pass time when his body’s’ frozen. At the very least, he’s good company.  
  
The other voice makes a gasp.  
  
_‘Wait, you hear that?’_ _  
__‘No?’_ _  
__‘Listen closer.’_ _  
__  
_ If Tommy focuses, he can hear, what could almost be a voice, but it’s too soft and quiet to make out any of the words.  
  
_‘It’s Ford and Wendy.’_ _  
__‘How can you_ _tell_ _?’_ _  
__‘Shhhhhh, try to focus more. Put your back into it.’_  
  
It’s like his soul seizes up as he puts all his mental power into deciphering the mumbling.  
  
“....do the head first, as to not potentially leave him braindead.” Ford explains. “We’re lucky the book was only in a Caesar cipher and nothing more.”  
  
There’s a tingle in his throat as he feels air touch it, and pass through it. His eyes bolt open as he gasps for more air. Finally! He can see! Ford and Wendy, just as the voice said, are on either side of a bed he’s laying in, Ford in a chair with his hand on Tommy’s forehead, as Wendy stands. Tommy tries to crane his neck up to see them, until a pillow is placed underneath his neck by Ford’s free hand, making it easier for Tommy to look out at the pair.  
  
“This is still better than when it happened with Mercedes.” He jokes.  
  
Ford bites his cheek in a semi-anger as Wendy, hair in a ponytail and wearing Dipper’s ushanka, gets in Tommy’s face.  
  
“DUDE, IT’S AUGUST! YOU’VE BEEN FROZEN THE ENTIRE SUMMER!”  
  
Tommy, still unable to move his arms and legs, tries to flail around in fear. No way! It, couldn’t have been that long, right?!  
  
The hand that once supplied the pillow now rests on Tommy’s shoulder, trying to keep him still.  
  
“Wendy, that’s not funny.” Ford says with a sigh. “It’s only the 7th, son. You’ve been out less than a week.”  
  
That doesn’t ease Tommy’s panic. His freshly reanimated hand meets his face, as he cringes in his own tomfoolery. “Oh jeez, the list of stuff! Doc, I couldn’t-”  
  
“I know.” Ford assures him. “And, it’s okay my boy.”  
  
Tommy raises an eyebrow as he peeks out from between his fingers. That’s not what he expected to hear the old fart say.  
  
Ford motions to Wendy. “Your friends took care of everything for you. She even saved your life.”  
  
What?  
  
“Dr. Pines, I didn’t do anything, really-”  
  
He stops her there. “Nonsense! You went out during a thunderstorm with a bag full of metal, scaled a 50 foot sheer cliffside, single-handedly fought off a powerful magic user, and even stole her grimoire just to get Thomas back. That’s hardly nothing Ms. Corduroy.”  
  
She laughs a bit at ‘single-handedly’ and shrugs. “Hey, he bought food first.”  
  
Tommy’s mouth hangs open in a small gasp as his eyes remain wide, his hand back at his side. He’s having a hard time processing this. She, did all that, and went through all that trouble, just for him?  
  
“Oh hey, that reminds me! Got something for ya downstairs, lemmie go get it!”  
  
He doesn’t even have time to blink before she’s gone. Feeling returns to his toes, and Ford lifts his hand off Tommy’s head, revealing a small magic crystal swirling with energy, as the spell requires a magic source, and Ford isn’t magic by nature. He places the rock by the camera as Tommy sits up to take off his shoes. The boy rubs his feet, as if to confirm that he really is all flesh again. That, and petrification is killer on the arches.  
  
“So…” Ford trails. “How do those wristbands, work exactly? Didn’t exactly stop you-know-who from puppeting them.”  
  
Tommy massages a knot as he shrugs. “Yeah, it’s a weird technicality. If I get shoved into another body, I lose the right to call the hands ‘mine’ per say. Thus, the spell on ‘em kinda goes bork until I’m out.”  
  
Ford writes this down mentally, and holds his own chin. “You know, there’s actually something else about that encounter, that’s been bothering me.”  
  
“Hm?” Tommy’s eyebrows perk up as he turns towards Ford.  
  
“You, shot at him.” Ford says. “When he was on the Mindscape and, should have been no longer visible to you. Yet, you could… see him?”  
  
“Oh, uh, yeah…” Tommy admits, almost in shame.  
  
The hand moves from Ford’s chin, to the back of his neck. “That whole time? Could you see me, too? And, _how_?”  
  
He nods sadly. “I’ve uh, kinda always been, able to do that? To see ghosts and, stuff.”  
  
It’s quiet for far longer than either one likes. The information swims in Ford’s head like a pond of hungry koi. Tommy claps his feet together and holds them with his hands as he sits, frowning. A scoff before he speaks.  
  
“Guess I’m sorta fired, huh?”  
  
The question snaps Ford out of his thoughtful trance. “What? No. The directions I gave you completely left out the parts about Bill, so we’re still the only two people who know-”  
  
“Not what I was talkin’ about.” Tommy deadpans. “What I mean is, I messed up again. You gave me this list of important things to do, and I blew it off like it was nothin’. I let you down, Doc.”  
  
Ford smiles sagely. “Oh, Thomas. If anything, this is my fault. I put too much of a workload on you at one time, and didn’t factor in that you might want to go out and socialize.”  
  
“But if I’d just-”  
  
Ford raises a finger. “We aren’t going to catch Bill by overworking and stressing ourselves out over every mistake. I learned that lesson the hard way.”  
  
Tommy pouts as Ford continues on. “As of right now, you only have to assist me with the Bill side of things. The rest of the time, you’re free to do whatever you’d like, just so long as you promise to communicate with me more. It’s important that we have good conversation with those closest to us when Bill is on loose.”  
  
A lip bite. “...Like tellin’ your twin brother that the demon he thought he killed is alive again?”  
  
Ford leers at him and flicks him in the ear. “Don’t sass me, boy! I might just have to confiscate your camera from you.”  
  
Tommy only notices what he’s talking about when Ford leans back and rests his arm on the dresser, tapping the old camera twice. A wave of glee hits him as he beams like a kid in a candy store.  
  
“No way!”  
“-YES WAY!”  
  
Wendy barges back into the room with a giant corkboard, nearly kicking down the semi-open door. She’s back in the pine tree hat, charging at Tommy full-speed to hand him the present. Before he knows it, he’s holding it in his hands. There’s a ton of photos tacked onto it! Ones of him in his new clothes, the various reactions to the camera flash from the 1st, selfies with Nate and Lee, that one snap of Thompson ralphing up a hotdog-  
  
“These are all the pics I took!” Tommy realizes.  
  
“Yeah. Me and Soos saw you didn’t have a place to put them, and so, we bought you this?”  
  
Ford taps his hands together as his ward looks at the gift with shining eyes. “Yes, it’s nice, but um, how much of that conversation did you hear?”  
  
“Oh, you two were talking?” Wendy asks. “I just heard the ‘NO WAYYY’ and, well, decided to make an entrance.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
Tommy really can’t believe it. The whole thing hardly seems that big of a deal for him. Of course he paid for food and helped with everything else. He remembers what it’s like to be young, angry, and feeling like the whole world’s against you. Heck, he still feels that way. Besides, it’s not like he didn’t get anything out of it either! He got to show off his knowledge on things he’s actually proud of, like getting free replays out of older arcade machines and winning claw games with one quarter, instead of the magic mumbo jumbo that’s the constant background noise to his life.  
  
“Thanks, but, y’all really didn’t have to do all this for me?”  
  
Wendy shrugs. “What are friends for?”  
  
Friends? He laughs. They all hardly know each other, and after all the trouble he caused her, here this redheaded teen is, calling him a friend. It’s probably out of pity over how helpless he is, or something. Still, that little group outing was nice, and having a person he can hang out and decompress with at this freaky little cabin in the woods _would_ be pretty cool. Like Doc said, they aren’t gonna catch Bill by overworking themselves. Plus, if everyone in this town is this easily impressed, he should be able to make a killing performing in the park! That, and all this new free-time, means he might even be able to do those outings on the regular! Or even buy a phone! Things, could be actually, really, honestly okay!  
  
Tommy smiles a big open-mouth grin. “Yeah. Guess you’re right!”  
  
  
**_Li brx grq'w nqrz zkb Kdqg Zlwfk lv khuh, jr zdwfk wkh pxvlf ylghr iru wklv vrqj eb M. Jhlov Edqg. L surplvh lw'oo doo pdnh vhqvh._**


End file.
